


Thirft Store Fabric Rolls

by bexacaust



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Furby, M/M, but my god what hell hath my cursed hands wrought?, my homeslice will probably appreciate this, rival custom furby maker au, this was a dare and also a mistake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: Herbert West, STEM student, medical malpractice extraordinaire and daytime mortician has learned to hate the old bastard ten minutes away from his favorite thrift store.They both make custom furby monstrosities.And then somehow they fell in love.
Relationships: Shou Tucker/HerbertWest
Kudos: 2





	Thirft Store Fabric Rolls

They met over the thrift store fabric bin- full of ridiculous patterns like pink paisley and neon leopard print. The glare shared was acidic as they both reached for a roll of ancient arcade patterns- stars and moons and uv glow dust.

"Hello Mr. Tucker.", sighed Herbert, knowing the way the other man would spit his first name would make his forehead head with building temper.  
"So we meet again- how goes the instagram following, Herbert."  
"Just call me West, you know I hate my first name."  
Mr. Tucker; Shou to the neighbors and the exhausted blonde cashier, snorted derisively at the request.  
"It's a good name, strong. Be proud of something for once, would you?"  
"Okay boomer."  
And with that, Herbert grinned, snatched the roll's label loop, and sped to the counter while Shou sputtered in annoyance before sighing heavily and went back to scanning the fabric rolls stacked like bodies.  
"...Dude, why are you blushing?", asked the cashier, eyebrows raised to his hairline.  
"The AC is once again shit in here, man."  
"Riiiiiiight. Just don't call him Daddy til you're out of the store-"  
"DUDE."

Shou looked up, patting a paisley pattern that would be a perfect accent to his newest custom furby project and watched Herbert skitter out of the thrift shop, hood up and steps gawky and uncoordinated.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

It had started as all things do- with the unfortunate usage of social media and too much spare time.

Herbert West, STEM student, unholy pride of the medical program at the local university; needed money. And working with bodies in a funerary sense at his day job gave him a steady hand and stitches that were the envy of his grandmothers on both sides of the family.

So with his playlist running and a stumble and fall down the hole of custom furby creations, a business began. His summers eaten by conventions and his creations becoming the new hot Weird Gift in his local suburbanite colonies and money began to ooze into his account in jumps and leaps of 200, 600, and even 1345 dollars as a lump sum for a 9 foot monstrosity he named Madame Malady; decorated in obnoxious taffeta and repurposed bridal gown silk.

But then, Mister Tucker appeared. With his contorted creations and his seemingly endless knowledge of terrible slasher movies from 1974 it was only a matter of time before they collided in the social mediasphere…

Only for Herbert to discover this man lived not 10 minutes from his favorite thrift store.

The rivalry seemed foolish at first- competing photos released onto the internet and joking conspiracy theories that they were one and the same.

But then the old bastard had to have the audacity to just. SPEAK that way.

Low and almost monotone- a lilt to his words that dug its claws into Herbert’s well hidden inferiority complex with a kind of uncaring softness that forced Herbert to DEMAND acknowledgement.

And, well. College is always a time of experimentation, of sorts.

So now they ran into each other nearly weekly- clashing in front of the fabric bins of the thrift store they both easily frequented.

The poor cashier always sighed when they ran into each other; resulting once in Shou nonchalantly asking if the pistol under the counter behind glass was still in functioning order.

“It’s a display piece and you know it, Shou.”, grated the blonde angrily, “But my GOD you make me wish it wasn’t sometimes.”

Shou laughed, waving a hand and shrugging and Herbert felt his heart drop down between the bottom-most ribs like old lead.

It was almost a year of angry glares and traitorous red on the med-student’s cheeks before Shou finally seemed to relent, smiling in a way that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and his glasses shine ominously under old flourescent bulbs.

“Mr. West- perhaps we… got off on the wrong foot. Let’s try things again? Here’s my address-”

A slip of paper with information scrawled in the writing of old professors.

“And my phone number. Come by tomorrow, after classes; we’ll order takeout and have a chat. Maybe we can come to a new… arrangement.”

And now, here poor Herbert West was- wearing Shou Tucker’s old Herbie The Love Bug t-shirt with his hair mussed and glasses smudged as the older of the pair made fried eggs and hashbrowns in a skillet that looked to be on it’s last legs.

Shou looked over, and grinned that infuriating grin.

"This is ridiculous."

"You're wearing my old Herbie the Punch Bug shirt; you don't get to call ridiculous."

"All your other shirts look like fucking tents on me, old man."  
Shou looked at Herbert over his glasses, raising a thin and greying eyebrow, "You're lucky the bedhead is cute."  
  


"Shut UP old man."

Shou winked, and Herbert groaned in annoyance as he took uneven steps- one sock on and the other gone missing, to the aged coffeepot to pour himself a mug and keep himself from looking up as his face burned.

How did this all start with a stupid toy from the nineties?

**Author's Note:**

> I was dared, I was tempted, I committed sin unfathomable and now my hosban is giving me A Look from across the living room. Truly I am become Chaos, destroyer of reality.


End file.
